Everything Will Be Alright
by BrilliantGreenEyes
Summary: Evan is picking out a gift for Paige when something entirely unforseen occurs. Evan whumpage, and Hank to the rescue! Rated K .


**Disclaimer: **I own the world, and therefore, Royal Pains. JUST KIDDING. I own nothing. Absolutely nothing. Except for the blanket on my cold toes. But that's besides the point.

On another note, this is my first Royal Pains fic. I really wanted an excuse to whump Evan, because it's fun to read, and I wanted to try my hand at writing it. I've never written a fic solely for whumpage, nor have I written an RP fic before, so here goes nothing... *hides under blankets* And yes, for all those reading, I really should be updating my Vlad Tod fic. I know, and I'm a horrible slacker... don't send Jasik after me, please. Oh, and to make this note-thingie even longer, I must admit, I don't claim to have extensive medical knowledge, but I do have friends with life-threatening allergies, and I consulted them and the magical wizards at Google for information. Thank you, and I hope you enjoy. :] OH and one more thing: this fic does switch between Evan and Hank's POV, but I tihnk I've made it obvious enough that you don't need markers. Hopefully. (Title is a Killers song from Hot Fuss. Don't own that, either.)

* * *

Evan pulled his hands inside his hoodie, and stepped outside. It was times like this that he was grateful for the garden Boris had put up around the patio. Hmm. Which flowers would Paige like best? Okay, not roses, that was a bit too forward, even thought they really were actually dating now. Maybe the yellow things? Evan had no idea what they were called. Flower names were sort of a weird thing for guys to know, unless they were botanists or something. Which he was not.

"Crap," Evan said aloud, and he ran his hands anxiously through his curly hair. Who knew that picking flowers from your own garden could be so difficult? This was ridiculous.

Maybe she'd like the purple kind. They were pretty enough, and smelled nice. Like soap. Or that aromatherapy stuff that that chick from college had used. _Lavender. _Yeah. That was it. He just wouldn't mention that he got the idea from a two-month college fling. Evan brushed away a few bugs clustering around the tallest plant, and pulled out several sprigs.

Oh, man, was he the best boyfriend or what? Fresh-picked flowers, he'd appeased her parents, she'd given him a _fabulous _birthday present… And there was no way now that Evan would have to stay home alone, watching daytime TV reruns. Score. Now all he had to do was stick the lavender in a vase-or glass cup-'cause he was pretty sure they didn't actually have a vase, and head on over to Paige's place, and-

"Ow. Holy-, ow!" Evan slapped a hand to his neck, and winced. It felt like something had just stung him. And it actually _hurt. _He swiped the air for the little demon, and felt his heart skip a beat when he heard the buzzing of a bee pass his ear. The thing was losing altitude fast; dimly he remembered that some bees sacrifice themselves when they sting people. Something about the stinger bit being attached to vital other bits inside them. Not that that really mattered.

Evan could already feel his neck tingling from the entry point, and tried not to panic. It had been forever since he'd been stung by a bee, and he couldn't remember what to do. The last time he'd been stung, it was back when Mom was still around. He remembered something about a lot of swelling, and his throat getting itchy. The doctor they had taken him to had said something about allergic reactions, and the immediate use of antihistamines after another sting. And something about a chick named Anna, and a dude named Phil? He had absolutely no idea.

Taking a deep breath, Evan put the flowers down on the table and walked slowly back into the house. Antihistamines. That was like allergy pills. Like Claritin, or Benadryl, right? He could do this. He wouldn't bug Hank about a stupid insect bite. Sting. Whatever. God knows Hank had enough on his plate. Sleeping with the freaking Emily. Enemy. (Was there really a difference?)

Evan could feel how hard it was getting to breathe and to swallow. He ran to the bathroom. Nausea was already bubbling in his stomach, and he promptly puked into the toilet. He was shaking as he braced himself to puke again as dry heaves wracked his body.

"Gahh, that's disgusting," Evan mumbled, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. "Okay. Benadryl. I got this." He opened the mirror cabinet with unsteady hands, fighting vertigo as the bathroom spun around him. He found the pills, and immediately downed a couple, using water from the tap.

Sinking to his knees, he rested his head against the tub for a few seconds, letting the cool porcelain soothe his sweating face. His chest still felt constricted, and his tongue felt weird in his mouth, but the room had stopped spinning, momentarily.

Maybe the Benadryl had helped, he reasoned. After a few minutes of trying not to cry tears of relief, Evan stood up, and staggered over to the couch. Paige would just have to wait. He just needed a rest. For a second. He clicked on the television, and after eight minutes of flicking through useless channels, he found that he still couldn't breathe properly. His tongue was definitely still swollen, and maybe his throat, too, if the wheezing was anything to go by. And his stomach was itching. He pulled up the hoodie, feeling his heart try to skip a beat-it was going too fast- and found hives, spreading along his stomach and torso.

"Holy crap. Holy crap," Evan gasped. Yeah, it was definitely time to call Hank. The room had started to spin again; his chest felt weird. His fingers were ice-cold, but Evan managed to dial his brother's number without fault. "Henry?"

"Yeah, it's me." His brother's semi-annoyed voice was like music to his ears. "I'm a little busy at the moment, Ev. What do you want?"

"Bee-sting; can't breathe-itchy," Evan mumbled. "Benadryl di'n't he'p…"

"Oh my God. Okay, Evan? I'm on my way. Can you still hear me? Ev? Evan!"

* * *

It had been a really nice day for a jog. The sun was out, there was minimal cloud coverage, and it wasn't too hot. Perfect weather to cool down from an annoying client. Hypochondriacs and their children. Yes, it's okay for your child to sneeze. Honestly. And then there he was, worrying about the whole Emily thing, wondering if Evan really was right, and after that whole episode with the whooping cough…

Anyway.

He hadn't been too far from the house when Evan had called, thank God. At first, Hank had thought that Evan had come up with a horrifyingly new idea to promote HankMed, like another website idea, or a fresh plan to sabotage Emily. Which was why he was sort of reluctant to answer, in the first place. But as soon as he heard his brother's voice, Hank knew something was wrong.

Bee-sting. Evan hadn't been stung by a bee since he was nine. Hank remembered something about having to take Evan to a clinic when the swelling on his ankle got really bad. And then it came back to him. Evan was allergic to bees. The pediatrician had said that they'd have to watch out for the next time Evan got stung, but he hadn't ever been stung again. Which was why Hank had completely forgotten. Until now.

"Oh my God. Okay, Evan? I'm on my way." Hank immediately turned around, and ran faster than he'd probably ever ran in his life. His brother was in trouble. Hank could barely hear his heavy wheezes over the phone by now. "Can you still hear me? Ev? Evan?" He clicked the phone off, and sped through the back door, and squished a bug underfoot on his way indoors. "Evan?" Hank scooped up his black bag from the kitchen table, and lugged it with him as he twisted around the furniture to get to the living room, where he could see his brother's dark curls spill over the arm of the couch.

Hank shoved the coffee table out of the way, opening his bag and pulling out an epinephrine auto-injector along the way. He knelt down and checked Evan's breathing, becoming extremely alarmed when he only felt a faint whisper against his ear.

"Hank?" Evan's voice was rough as he tried to speak.

"Hey, I'm here," Hank replied, unscrewing the cap to the auto-injector as he ran a hand through his brother's damp hair. "Just relax, okay?"

"Wha's happen'n' to me?" His brother sounded like a kid again, and the look on his face was heartbreaking as Hank bent over him, readjusting his legs and pulling off his hoodie. Evan's face was pale white, with splotches of color dousing his neck; his eyes were scared and bright.

"It's called anaphylactic shock, I'm sorry, but I'm gonna have to give you a shot," Hank replied, and before he had finished speaking, he jammed the auto-injector into his brother's thigh, silently counting to ten before removing the needle.

Evan's breathing was still wheezy as he gasped from the shock of the pain. "Ow!" he croaked out.

"Shh. Try to not talk-just focus on breathing steady," Hank replied, as he checked Evan's blood pressure. "You're BP's still really low, and I can hear the wheeze in your chest," he remarked tightly. "I'm calling Heritage; we've got to get you on oxygen and saline, to get your breathing and blood pressure back up."

"I'm feeling better though," Evan said, and motioned to stand up. Which was a terrible idea, as Hank visibly saw his brother struggle against dizziness and nausea. "Whoa-"

"Hey, hey, hey! Not so fast, okay? Just lie back down, Ev. Please." Hank heard the waver in his voice as he gently but firmly pushed his little brother back into his seat. He hoped that Evan hadn't detected it, but the shine in his brother's eyes told him otherwise. "Just relax."

"All right," Evan replied, a note of teasing petulance breaking through. There was an awkward moment of silence as Hank pulled a blanket around Evan, and began to dial 9-1-1. "So, I gotta say-ow," he mumbled, scratching absently at his neck.

Hank made a shushing movement with his hand, as he spoke to the emergency operator. "Hi, I need an ambulance…"

* * *

Evan lost interest as Hank dialed the hospital, and began fiddling with the tassels on the pillow nearest him. He still couldn't believe he'd been stung by a bee, and nearly died. What the hell? If his brother hadn't been so close to the house when he called…Evan shuddered. And his hands still kept quivering. He took a shaky breath, and was immensely proud of himself when it didn't catch in his throat. Trying to relax, as Hank had told him, he reached up to his neck again and began scratching.

"Ow, ow, ow…" He could feel how swollen the entry point was; something sharp pricked his finger. Was the stinger still in his neck? That couldn't be good. In the least. Evan looked up, and saw that Hank was off the phone, and was heading back towards him. "Hey, man, I think you need to check this out," Evan said.

"What is it? The ambulance will be here in five minutes. Don't scratch," his brother ordered, but his tone was light. Hank had already pulled up a kitchen chair, and was examining his neck with gentle hands. "I need to remove the stinger." Evan watched as Hank reached into his medical bag and pulled out a little box with tweezers. "Don't move."

"Not planning on it." He winced a bit when he felt the tugging on the back of his neck, but it was over in a heartbeat. Hank stuck the thing in a plastic baggie, and heaved a sigh.

"Evan-Stop scratching."

"Sorry."

"It's okay." But Evan knew it wasn't, and he braced himself for Hank's speech. "Look, Ev- God." His brother put his face in his hands for a couple seconds, and when he looked back up, his eyes were bright. "Please, please don't do that to me again, all right?"

Evan found it was hard to swallow again, but for a different reason. "I-yeah. Thanks," he mumbled. "I don't know what would've- But thanks, Henry." He wanted to find a way to say more, but the words just wouldn't make sense in his brain; there was too much chick-flickiness that couldn't find a way to work.

"Hey, the ambulance is here." Hank looked noticeably relieved as they loaded Evan onto the stretcher and put the annoying oxygen mask over his face. "I'm coming with you."

Everything was going to be okay now, Evan reasoned. His brother was there, and he could already breathe better with the oxygen and-

_Oh crap, _he thought. _How am I going to explain this to Paige? _

* * *

**AN: **Soooooo... how'd I do? Reviews are welcome, I love constructive criticism. Please review!


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